Bend, Don't Break: The 149th Hunger Games SYOT (OPEN!)
by InfinityBook
Summary: The 149th Games will be different from most years. The ancient Capitolites have thrown in a secret twist, and it may just be enough to break this year's tributes. One tribute will win, but will it be worth the cost? SYOT Open.
1. Introduction: The Twist

_The rebellion is nothing but a distant memory._ _The Hunger Games have steadily grown more brutal, with each tribute facing more challenges, both physical and mental. Each year, to win means more glory, more honor, more fame. To lose, of course, means death. But President Raven knows that the 149th Hunger Games will be different from most years. The ancient Capitolites have thrown in a secret twist, and it may just be enough to break this years' tributes. One tribute will win, but will it be worth the cost?_

 **Hey everyone! I am so excited to introduce the 149th Hunger Games SYOT! I already have tons of ideas in mind, not to mention one massive twist. If this sounds intriguing, I invite you to continue reading below!**

 **If you've seen my name pop up before, that is because this is not my first attempt at an SYOT. However, I do believe that it will be my best by far. Since my first attempt, I have learned so much about writing, character development, and formats that seem to engage readers the most. Over all, I have a really good feeling about where this story is going.**

 **My purpose as a writer is to make each character leap off the page, which is exactly what I intend to do. I want to give each tribute depth, while keeping their POVs interesting and concise. After all, the characters drive the story, so they deserve some extra attention, right?**

 **Now is the part where you wonderful readers come in, because I need twenty-four tributes the write about! I do want to go over a couple of things. First, characters will not be first-come, first-served. I've had issues with this in the past that resulted in a lack of variety among characters. For example, I had one fourteen year old, and the rest were sixteen or older. When it is first-come, first-served, I have no control over the level of variety among ages, backgrounds, personalities, etc. However, I think I have come up with a really solid system as a replacement. If you are interested in submitting, please read the rules on my profile! You will also find the tribute form on my profile. Submissions are now OPEN.**

 **And, of course, I must mention that this story will have a sponsorship system. The ways in which you can earn sponsor points are below, and it will likely be updated as the story continues (I will make author's notes if there are changes). Quick note: reviews are a great way to earn lots of points; I have made them worth a decent bit because of how essential feedback is!** **Reviews start now, including this chapter!**

 **Sponsorship Points:**

Tribute Submission: You can earn four points for each tribute you submit. Even if your tribute isn't chosen, you will still receive sponsor points! Since you can submit up to three, you can earn up to twelve points before the story even begins!

Reviews: You can earn a total of seven points for reviews. One is for the simple act of taking the time to write a review. You can earn three more points by leaving commentary on your opinions and insight about the characters. Another three points can be earned by discussing the writing itself; in other words, how well am I doing at developing the characters and presenting the story? Note: you can earn one, four, or seven points for a review based on the content.

Game Ideas: You can earn two points each for sending in an idea for an arena, mutt, Gamemaker trap, chariot outfit, or interview outfit. Note: all ideas must be sent through PM only. There is no limit to the number of ideas you can submit.

Escorts/Mentors/Stylists: You can earn two points each for sending in an idea for an escort, mentor, or stylist. There is not a form, this is similar to sending in something like an arena idea. Having submitted ideas in front of me will help the creative process along, so these are extremely useful! There is no limit to the number of ideas you can submit.

Sponsorship System: You can earn two points simply for suggesting an additional way to earn sponsorship points!

 **That's all for now. Below, the story begins with none other than the President of Panem. Please read this POV, as it reveals information that will come into play later in the story. Let's get started, and may the odds be ever in your favor!**

 **President Kara's POV**

I sit at my desk, analyzing the layout for this year's arena. I silently praise Areous' work, though I would never allow him to see that I am satisfied. I run a finger down the pages and pages of notes, using my red ink pen to denote areas that still need work, to highlight flaws. The tributes are the ones that truly make the show, but there is an awful lot of planning that goes into the spectacular show that is the Hunger Games. There are many whose official titles give them the authority to craft the games, but as President, the Games are ultimately attached to my name. Therefore, I have to make sure that everything runs smoothly, that everything works according to plan. I like to think of myself as an editor to an author's novel, but one with the authority to behead the author if the work is unacceptable.

My thoughts are interrupted by the soft creaking of the door. I whip my head around and see my mousey little assistant standing in the doorway. I can see her putting on a brave front while her body trembles of its own volition. A snarl crosses my face. Lyona is by far one of the most pathetic assistants I have ever had the displeasure of ordering around. I do expect a degree of fear and respect from my inferiors, but spinelessness displeases me greatly. I am willing to deal with Lyona though, only for the fact that she is Areous' niece. She may not technically be a hostage, but the threat is very clear nonetheless.

"President Kara?" she asks in her high-pitched voice.

"What is it?" I ask her, my voice sharp as a knife. She visibly flinches at my tone, but continues on.

"They are ready for you." With her statement made, she turns and practically bolts from the room. As soon as she's gone, I do allow myself a moment of excited anticipation. This is something new, something that needs addressing, something that has never come up in all the years that Panem has existed. I can't imagine what was coursing through the minds of the initial founders of our great nation, but I don't have reason to question them yet. Their design of the Games has truly been a work of art, and I can appreciate the careful thought that went into planning each meticulous detail.

I have not yet had the pleasure of announcing a Quarter Quell. I have only been President for a mere six years, though I believe it has been long enough to establish myself as the most powerful and dangerous president yet. I remember reading about the small spark of rebellion that Katniss Everdeen posed against Snow's era. At that time, Snow was the most malicious man to ever rule Panem. If he were here today, I would have him shaking in his shoes.

I force my mind back to the present, away from the dark recesses of my inner thoughts. Today is important. Today, I get to open the envelope with "149th Hunger Games" scrawled on the outside. I don't know why this year is special, why the year before the Quarter Quell warrants its own stipulations, but I am about to find out. And I am eager to do so.

I stand up from my desk, quickly straightening my papers so I don't lose my place. I was working through the arena designs, but there are other piles full of mutts and gamemaker traps, enough that a person could get lost in all of the horrifying details.

I stand straight and tall and walk out of my office, where I am greeted by the guards that are always waiting by my door. They flank me on all sides as I make my way down the hall, through the double doors, and into the main chamber.

A panel of people turn to face me as I enter, adopting expressions of mixed awe and fear. Several greet me with military-style salutes, and I nod in return, my steely eyes scanning the room, making mental notes about every aspect.

"President Kara." The man who approaches me is Areous himself, dressed in a sharp black suit. I note the power color.

"Gamemaker Crane," I reply formally. The rest of the gamemakers are assembled behind him according to rank, with senior officers placed closer to me. To my right is Chief of Defense, Officer Bylum Wayes, who directs the rest of the mansion's security force with short, pointed hand motions. I barely pay attention to the other scattering of people in the room. I want those directly involved to hear what is written in the envelope. The others will find out in due time.

"Where is it?" I bark into the now nearly silent room. There is a flurry of motion, then a young avox boy nervously approaches me. He carries an old, solidly-built box with a steel padlock. With one quick motion, I pull the key from my pocket, slip it into the lock, and pop it open. On the inside is a keypad, into which I surreptitiously input a serious of passcodes. This is a more recent security measure. I am the only one with access to the codes. If something were to happen to me, Areous and Wayes would be given instructions on how to retrieve the passcodes that I have so meticulously hidden.

I am practically bursting with anticipation as I slide the inside cover out, revealing rows and rows of sealed envelopes. They last until the 1000th Hunger Games. Our ancestors must have spent a full year developing plans for each and every Quarter Quell. Well, every Quarter Quell plus the 149th Hunger Games.

I reach my hand in and pluck the one with 149 printed clearly and boldly on the front. Using a fingernail, I slice it open and pull a single sheet of paper from the inside. In tiny print are the instructions for this year's games. I can feel the tension in the air as every neck cranes forward, desperate to hear.

"Areous. Come with me," I say curtly. I look up and see everyone still staring at me, waiting for the official announcement. "You're all dismissed. Return to your official duties." It takes them a moment, and I make note of who takes the longest to follow orders. Their lack of immediate response will not go unpunished. Areous looks at me uncertainly, but I simply beckon for him to follow. My security force once again surrounds me in a tight little bubble, and I make my way back to my office, trailed by Areous and his own personal security force. Which, I see, is not up to par with my own. Good. He needs protection, but I will not be outdone by what amounts to the likes of an employee.

I open the door to my office and gesture for my head gamemaker to follow, which he does without question.

"Sit," I say, and he does willingly enough, choosing the chair directly in front of my desk, where he has sat so many times before in various meetings. I go to the wall and press in a series of places. In response, a portion of the wall slides open to reveal an extensive keypad with codes and symbols. In a few moments, I have disabled anything that might possibly reveal what I am about to say.

"I don't want this leaking to the public," I say as I stalk back to my desk, envelope clutched tightly in my hand.

"I completely understand," he replies in a matter-of-fact voice. I always have admired his ability to keep a formal tone around my intimidating presence. I nod once, then unfold the piece of paper. And I read what is written on it.

A few moments pass, and then he begins to chuckle softly. A wicked grin spreads across my face.

"That's different," he says finally, an understatement at the very least. "The tributes can't know until the arena, huh? Very interesting indeed."

"You understand that this absolutely does not leave this room," I say cuttingly. "I promise, you do not want to face the consequences if you do not follow these orders." He nods once, and I can tell in his eyes that he is excited about keeping this little secret. There is something exhilarating about knowing such a crucial detail.

"I will take that into consideration," he says, his sinister laugh filling the room. I don't allow myself to relax, but I do allow myself a brief time to enjoy the moment. These tributes have no idea what they're facing this year. The Hunger Games have always been a physical challenge, and trying on the mind. But this year, we are going to break them.

We discuss the twist for a while longer before I dismiss him to work on his designs. As he exits, I fold the paper back up, mind already thinking over the work I will need to do in order to carry out this year's Games.

"Happy Hunger Games," I whisper into the empty room. Then I return to my stack of papers, reading each of them in a new and interesting light.


	2. Seeing Red

**Hey everyone! So, there are still TONS of open spots for tributes! The rules and form are on my profile. Remember, if you submit at least two, you are guaranteed one tribute in the Games. And don't forget to review- every review earns you sponsor points and encourages me to write! For now, enjoy this short POV from a character first introduced last chapter, our very own Head Gamemaker!**

 **Areous Crane's POV**

I have grown to hate the color red. I recently had my assistant replace all of my red pens with blue and green and purple ones—anything on the cool side of the color wheel will do. I never get a moment away from the red lines—they are permanently etched into my brain, and even manage to slip into my dreams.

There is one inherent truth that I have learned to live with over the course of my career: no one ever receives praise for behind the scenes work. This holds true at all levels, from the naïve, expectant Capital citizens all the way up to the esteemed President Kara, who first caused my hatred of that wretched color. It's no wonder red is associated with pain and suffering. It's people like the President who have given it a bad reputation.

The paperwork on my desk is covered with her familiar, scrawling penmanship. Every last mark is made with the same red ink. I don't think the woman has ever used a different color in her life—the glaring red seems to be her trademark. Every word, every letter, every mark points to a new problem, a new hole, a new failure. And these are only her notes on my work—she has a whole list of demands that I haven't even touched yet. Our ancestors may have had the right idea when they planned out the 149th Hunger Games, but not one of them could have predicted how far President Kara would take it.

Yesterday I met with Officer Bylum Wayes, Chief of Defense. When I told him what I wanted done, he looked at me as if I had told him to jump off a bridge. I recognize that he had every right to react in such a manner. My lies may have been carefully planned out, but ordering him to invest in about a thousand hidden cameras for "defense purposes" probably didn't sit well with him, especially considering the relative peace as of recent years. His best protest was that we simply didn't have the budget, but I'm not a stupid man. If the President wants to pull of this little stunt, then my requests are non-negotiable. The answer? Screw the budget, of course, and take care of business.

I'm still waiting to hear back about his progress, but so far nothing. Nothing but document after document, file after file, marked-up paper after marked-up paper. When I retire, I'm buying all the red pens in all of Panem, and we're going to have one spectacular bonfire.


End file.
